


Red and White

by Hopetohell



Category: Hellraiser (Movies), Night Hunter (2018)
Genre: Blood, Bodily Fluids, Oral Sex, Period Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:40:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29579700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopetohell/pseuds/Hopetohell
Summary: They say orgasms are the best way to alleviate period pain.
Relationships: Walter Marshall (Night Hunter)/Mike (Hellraiser)/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Red and White

Forget the towels. The sheets will wash and anyway the mattress has a cover because they love to fuck you raw, love to see the way their come drips from you. So forget the towels. When you wake it’s with a softly groaned unh, with a litany of curses calmed by Walter’s arm around you. _Sweetheart. It’s alright._

Forget the smears of red, unless it’s to revel in them, in the warmth of blood across your thighs. How it cools in this fine air, how it sends shivers up your spine and gooseflesh down from neck to knee. 

How the curtains rustle in the breeze from the open window. Mike stands to pull it shut and the air settles; he says _do you wanna_ and you answer

_Are you sure this is alright?_

_Course it is. Right boss?_ And Walter nods; he trails his fingers speculatively down your thigh. His curls are wild and mussed with sleep; there’s that musky sleepy scent still clinging to him, warm blankets and warmer bodies and the smallest hint of cooled sweat. 

_If you’re comfortable, sweetheart. Neither of us minds the mess and it’ll help the pain._ Yeah, the pain. The ache that woke you, deep in your belly. And Walter sits to pull you back against his chest; he is warm and solid under the soft cotton of his tee. _Michael, I’ll hold her steady for you. And by your leave, my gorgeous girl, he’ll take you apart._

And so it happens. Mike is hard and leaking almost instantly, it seems. He settles down between your legs and gets to work; he is all smiles, and by the time he lowers his mouth onto you he is already rutting against the sheets. And there’s Walter speaking warm and soft in your ear, his length beginning to twitch at your back as his big hand rubs slow and soothing circles on your belly. _That’s it, sweetheart. Look at how he craves you._ And Walter moves his hands on you; he lifts a thigh to spread it over his own, and then again on the other side. Like this he holds you still, holds you open; the heel of his hand plays counterpoint on your belly as his fingertips are circling on you. 

_This is good, isn’t it?_ Walter asks with his other arm across your chest; he holds you still and helpless, open, pinned against his bulk, gifting your body with a single option: _take._

_Y—yes. It’s good. It’s, ah. Oh, fuck—_ because that’s Mike with his mouth on you, working his tongue between Walter’s fingers; that’s Mike with his hands smearing up your thighs and adding to the mess. That’s Mike reaching bloody fingers up to paint your lips, to slip them inside and watch you suck the copper from his skin as he grins with bloody teeth. That’s Mike leaving wet red fingermarks across your breasts, over Walter’s forearm, blood beading in the hair. 

That’s Mike rutting against your thigh, wet with precome and the copper on his fist; he would mark you red from head to toe and lick you clean; as much as this is pleasure for you, it is something more for him. It’s fierce and primal, the animal call of blood and the need to mark, to claim, to own. 

Forget the mess; it doesn’t matter. This is Mike’s mouth back on you and his fingers in you, scissoring and stretching in a way you know so well. He looks up between your legs and he is bloody to the eyes; he is masked with red and rendered wild and wanton, and his voice is shredded when he husks out _babe. I wanna fuck you. Can I?_

Walter rumbles out his words against your back, gentle and deep with growing need. _Tell me what you want, sweet girl. This is for your pleasure._

And you answer Walter with a wriggle and a whine. _Sir, I want. I want him in me. Want him to fuck me hard and come inside. And when he’s done, will you have me after? Will you split me open, will you fuck his come so deep inside me I can taste it, and leave your own behind? Take the ache away and leave it with another kind. Can you? Will you?_ It makes Mike growl against your cunt; his mouth moves in a pattern that could be words, could be 

_Yeah. Yeah have him shove me deep inside you_

Or it could be nothing; Mike is fast losing himself and so he grips his cock and slides inside, all slicked with blood and spit and need. He grunts and snaps his hips and Walter falls back on his elbows, bowing your back to keep you over his chest in a pose that’s awkward and open, that lets Mike fuck and fuck and _take,_ until his words are lost, until the blood is flaking off his face and you are shivering apart beneath him, his pubic bone harsh against your mound and it is vile and wild and perfect. 

And still it isn’t over. 

Because this is what you wanted: Mike sliding free to shiver and hiss through the length of him sliding across your thigh. Walter, wrapping big thick arms about you and turning you beneath him in an alligator roll; he pulls you tight against his chest and slips inside, pressing your belly to the mattress. And it is still a stretch even now because he truly is a beast, huge and heavy everywhere. And as he ruts he’s talking, sweet like honey from the depths of hell, finding that voice, the one that dips below command and into ownership, the one he saves for times like these. 

_Oh, my sweet girl. My darling little thing. I know, I know. You crave it. You want so badly to be bred, for us to fill you up with seed. You want to be made gravid with us, to carry children not knowing if they’re his or mine. And we will give you what you want. We will fuck you in turn, sweetheart, over and over until you’re raw with it. Until come drips from you with every thrust. Until you cannot move or think. You are only a vessel. Your only purpose is to let us come inside._

_Christ, you’re good like this. So wet and slick. Is it just the blood and the fuck? Or is it the way I have you pinned down to be bred, motionless, helpless? Sweetheart, don’t forget. You’re ours, for always._ Walter’s losing rhythm, lost to the slick wet slide of himself in you; at your front Mike sits with legs apart, stroking himself through his sensitivity because he can’t not touch at the words, half-hard again and nudging at your lips to give you the taste of him, bitter seed and copper.   
_  
Lick him clean, sweetheart. I— fuck. I’m going to come inside. You’ll be so full, gorgeous, full of him and me._ And Walter jerks and grunts, and comes in pulsing waves. His hand is on you just this side of harsh, letting you grind against the heel of it as his hips follow yours, keeping himself inside as long as he can. And between the weight of him and the sweet press of his hand against your clit, it’s hardly any time at all before you’re coming hard around him, panting and whimpering and still trying to lick at Mike, to make him clean but _Christ_ how can you manage when you’re like this, shivering and weak, all your pain forgotten in the sweet ache of being stretched, filled, claimed. 

Mike strokes your hair and smiles his sated smile; he craves this just as much and maybe more: your blood on his tongue, binding the two of you together. And Walter slides off to the side, to hold you half-beneath him in warmth and safety even as he slips free in a rush of fluid; his voice is fully his again as he asks _alright?_

_Alright._

In a moment there’ll be washing-up. You’ll bathe and your boys will change the sheets; they’ll clean themselves and head into the kitchen to make you something rich and savory. It will be a lazy day, a comfortable day, as you focus on the sweet ache between your thighs, as Walter’s big hand rubs circles on your belly in front of some movie that you only half-watch, as Mike strokes your hair and the drizzle outside turns into a rain. There’ll be takeout boxes on the coffee table and blankets on your legs and all the while the rain is falling.


End file.
